


green light

by loveleee



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, First Time, Spoilers for 2x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 13:49:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13571856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveleee/pseuds/loveleee
Summary: After that it’s all hands: hands in her hair, on her neck, pressing into the small of her back, pulling her closer. Betty kisses him with an open mouth, with tongue, with everything she’s got (and maybe it isn’t as much as it was before, but whatever it is that she has left, she wants him to have it; wants him to fill in the empty, aching spaces inside her, because maybe that was the way they were always meant to fit together, to make up for all of the things the other has lost.)His fingers unfasten the clasp of her bra, and all she can think isyes.(Spoilers for 2x12, Betty and Jughead in the trailer.)





	green light

_i’m waiting for it, that green light, i want it_

 

 

 

After that it’s all hands: hands in her hair, on her neck, pressing into the small of her back, pulling her closer. Betty kisses him with an open mouth, with tongue, with everything she’s got (and maybe it isn’t as much as it was before, but whatever it is that she has left, she wants him to have it; wants him to fill in the empty, aching spaces inside her, because maybe that was the way they were always meant to fit together, to make up for all of the things the other has lost.)

His fingers unfasten the clasp of her bra, and all she can think is _yes._

She curls her shoulders in towards him, letting the straps slip down over her arms. Jughead’s breath is hot, ragged against her neck as he cups her breasts in his palms. He’s murmuring something she can’t make out, and then the pad of his thumb brushes over her nipple, quickly replaced by his mouth, warm and wet, sucking at her skin.

“Oh,” she gasps, threading her fingers through his hair, pressing his face to her chest, rolling her hips where she’s straddling him on the sofa. When she angles herself against him the right way, it feels so good it nearly knocks the air from her lungs.

Betty closes her eyes, and reminds herself to breathe.

 

 

 

(She hadn’t planned on this.

She hadn’t planned on this, but when his father had dragged Tall Boy outside and the other Serpents had turned back to their pool tables and bar stools and two-dollar beers, when the anger had melted suddenly from Jughead’s face and his shoulders slumped – when he’d just looked _tired_ – she hadn’t known what to say. _Do you want to go home?_

He’d said yes, and they’d made the five-minute walk in silence, Betty wobbling on the gravel in her too-high heels.

She hadn’t planned on this, and yet it feels inevitable, like they were barreling towards it all along, full speed with the brake lines cut. He’d opened the door to the trailer and she’d remembered another scene, same setting, different lines: _I love you, Betty Cooper_ , and the way his hands had cradled her face when they kissed.

She wasn’t planning for this. But she’s ready for the crash.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sound on mute, the television plays on behind them, splashing blue-tinted light against the curtains. Jughead leans back, his hands dipping down below the small of her back, hitching her against him where her pink dress pools around her hips.

Betty leans forward and kisses him, tugging his lower lip between her teeth. She can feel the beginnings of a groan rumbling at the base of his throat, and presses one hand to his chest, the other slipping open the last few buttons on his shirt.

“You have a lot of clothes on,” she murmurs against his mouth.

Jughead pulls back slightly, just far enough that he can meet her eyes. “You can take them off.”

They send a little thrill down her spine, those words, and Betty hooks her thumbs beneath the suspenders that are somehow still looped over his shoulders, pulling them down. She pushes his shirt off of his shoulders next, biting her lip as she watches him tug the sleeves off of his arms.

“Better?”

She nods, her mouth curling up slowly into a smile. His arms wrap around her as she leans in for another kiss, and the feel of his skin on her skin, his bare chest against hers, is almost overwhelmingly good.

Jughead kisses her neck, and pauses there, his face buried in her hair. “Let’s go to bed,” he says, adding, “The condoms are in there.”

It’s the first acknowledgment that yes, this is what they’re doing; this is what she meant, when she told him she wanted _all of him, tonight._ She wants more than hands slipping under clothes, more than bodies pressing together. She wants all of it, but _more._

Betty nods.

He carries her to his tiny bedroom, her legs wrapped around his hips, dress still hanging loose from her waist. When he sets her down on the bed she lays back and pushes the dress down off of her legs, down to the floor, and scoots back until her head reaches the pillows. Jughead is taking off his pants, fumbling slightly with the zipper, and a rush of affection flows through her as he bends to slip off his socks.

_I miss you_. He’s right there, an arm’s length away, but the thought still makes her ache.

Something darkens in his gaze when he looks at her again, sprawled out on the bed for him, waiting for him. It’s possessive, almost; the butterflies in her stomach go crazy.

Jughead pulls a box of condoms from the drawer of the bedside table, and when she sees it’s unopened a thread of tension she hadn’t even realized was there unspools inside her. ( _He didn’t lie,_ she thinks, and swallows down the thought that follows.)

He tears the box open and rips one of the foil packets off of the strip inside, and then falls still.

“You know I love you, right?”

His voice catches on the last word. Betty sits up, a pricking sensation at the back of her eyes, her heart beating so hard she thinks it might break through her chest.

“Even when we weren’t together. I still – I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Jughead pauses. “I haven’t stopped since I first started. I love you, Betty.”

Her mouth feels dry, her face hot. She wants to say _I know, I always knew._ She wants to say _I never doubted._ But she can only tell him what is true.

“I love you, too,” she says, cupping his jaw as she leans in for a kiss.

He drops the condom. His kiss is deep, urgent, sloppy, and he presses her down onto the mattress until she’s panting into his mouth. She folds her knees up around his waist, canting her hips up into his, and he groans, one of his hands groping at her breast like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

So she helps: she guides his hand down between her legs, pressing his fingers to the place where she knows it’ll feel good. He picks up on the rhythm quickly, rubbing her through her underwear.

“Jug.” She feels him smile against her. “Oh, god.”

“Does that feel good? Yeah, you’re so wet,” he answers for her, which is fine, because if she tries to speak right now she’s not sure it’ll come out as anything resembling words.

The pleasure builds, layering over itself again and again, and at one point she stops him, just long enough to tug her panties down over her knees. At first his fingers are more hesitant against her bare skin, but she moans and digs her nails into his forearm, and it’s all the encouragement he needs.

When she comes her whole body trembles with it, the hot, electric feeling stretching from her toes to the tips of her breasts. Jughead watches her, the look on his face half-awed, half-smug, and she lets out a deep breath before she giggles.

Betty swipes a hand at his eyes half-heartedly. “Stop staring,” she drawls, but doesn’t do anything to hide herself, too drugged by the comedown to care that she’s completely naked, bathed in the dim yellow glow of the lamp on the bedside table.

“No way,” he laughs, the word steeped in affection, his fingers pinching at the skin of her hip. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Heat pools between her legs again, and Betty shifts on the bed, nudging him with her knee. The orgasm had felt incredible, but it wasn’t enough; it’s not what she wants out of this night.

“Get the condom, Jug,” she says softly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he says, so slow and gentle as he pushes inside of her that her throat closes up with emotion.

It does hurt a little, but not too badly, and she doesn’t move much while he gets his bearings, other than the slow drift of her fingertips up and down his back. There’s a stretching sensation, maybe a burning, but also one of fullness, of closeness, and she brushes her lips over his shoulder. Jughead’s eyes are dark and unfocused, his hair flopping into his eyes, his mouth slightly open. She loves him so much she almost can’t bear it.

His hips start to move and she moves hers too, lifting up to meet him, but their rhythm is off. Jughead kisses her cheek, brushing his nose against her.

“Just wait. Just…” He stops, and then starts moving again, still slow but steadier this time, and she tilts her hips up into his and this time it feels better, _right_ , and Betty shuts her eyes as he rocks into her, curling her toes into his soft, worn sheets.

 

 

When he comes he pushes into her deep, words she’s rarely heard him say spilling from his mouth: _oh fuck, Betts, fucking Christ, oh my god, Betty._ There’s a roughness to it, like the words are scraping up against his throat on the way out. Another flicker of desire lights in her belly.

He cleans himself up while she watches, her legs pressed together, squirming slightly. She can’t mask the desperation in her voice when she says, “Jug, I want you to touch me again.”

Jughead looks so surprised that she nearly laughs, but it comes out as a whine instead, and before she can say another word he’s on top of her again. “Touch you where?” he says, his breath hot against her temple.

“Here,” she says, pulling his hand down between her legs again.  

“Can I go down on you?”

If he’d asked her an hour ago, she might have demurred. There were only so many ways she could crack her heart open in one night without the risk of shattering the whole thing. Now, though: “Yeah,” she says, the word high and breathy, and parts her thighs for him.

Jughead puts his mouth on her, his tongue moving against her inexpertly, but what he lacks in finesse he makes up for in enthusiasm. Her orgasm comes faster this time, but just as intense, and when it’s over he grins as he rubs at the spot on his scalp where she’d tugged on his hair as she came.

Betty brushes her hair out of her face and lets her wrist fall back on the pillow beside her, boneless. Jughead joins her, wiping his mouth against the back of his hand. He curls his body around her, one arm looping around her shoulders, the other laying over her hip.

“You’re hard again,” she points out, too sleepy to be embarrassed, and wonders fleetingly if this is what sex is, this back and forth, an endless cycle of giving and taking until you’re both too exhausted to continue.

“It’s fine,” Jughead murmurs, his face buried against her neck. He breathes in deeply, through his nose. “How do you smell so good?”

“I don’t know.” She trails her fingers over his chest, brushing his nipple absently with her thumb, making him twitch against her.

“I like how you just accept that as fact.”

Betty smiles. “I always smell good. According to you.”

“Yeah, okay.”

They lapse into silence, so quiet that when Betty shifts to lay her head on his chest she can hear the slow _thud-rush_ of his heartbeat. _I love you,_ she thinks, but something stops her from saying it out loud again. Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe this time they’ll have to be more careful, handle each other’s hearts like the broken, patched-up things they are.

“I don’t want to be away from you anymore,” Jughead whispers, the words so quiet she isn’t sure she was meant to hear them.

She answers him anyway.

_So don’t._

 

 

 

 

 

 

Betty wakes with a start, her face pressed against the crook of Jughead’s armpit.

He looks away from his phone, where a game of Words with Friends is up on the screen. “Good, you’re awake. That was starting to hurt.” He extracts his arm gently from where it’s pinned beneath her shoulders, and leans over to kiss her forehead.

Her lips feel dry and swollen, and she runs her tongue over them before she speaks. “What time is it?”

Jughead cranes his neck to look at the alarm clock. “Almost one.”

“Shit,” Betty groans, stretching her limbs out as she yawns. “I told my mom I’d be home by midnight.”

He drops his phone and rolls over, pinning her to the bed. “Might as well stay the night, then.”

“Mmm, I _can’t_ ,” she protests weakly, closing her eyes when his mouth finds the most sensitive spot on her neck, right over her pulse point.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“When my mom finds out I’m having sex with you? You’ll have to skip town.”

“Long as you come with me,” Jughead murmurs. He kisses her slowly, his tongue edging into her mouth. She can feel him growing hard against her leg again.

“We have to stop,” she tells him. The breathy sigh she ends on isn’t exactly persuasive, but he shifts over anyway, laying beside her.

His eyes follow the path of his hand, tracing over her ribcage, when he asks, “This was good, right?”

She touches his face, her thumb brushing over his lower lip, and he lifts his gaze to meet hers. “It was _so_ good.” She thinks it again – _I love you –_ and this time she says it, quietly, breathing it into his mouth as they kiss.

Eventually she extricates herself from his roaming hands, and gathers her clothes piece by piece: her dress from the bedroom floor, her bra from the living room, her heels from the foot of the sofa. Jughead appears from his room fully dressed as she’s strapping her shoes on. “I’ll walk you home,” he says.

They hold hands all the way to Betty’s house, fingers laced together. The walk is mostly quiet. (And she’s grateful for the brief reprieve, because there are things she has to tell him still, things she isn’t sure she can keep hidden for much longer, not when he looks at her with those eyes, touches her with those hands.)

She stops him on the sidewalk, out of view of her parents’ bedroom window, where her mother may or may not be sitting with a pair of binoculars and night-vision goggles. When he kisses her goodnight, he bends her backwards a little, his hands solid and warm on her back. It leaves her swoony and breathless, an invitation to climb up through her window and continue what they’ve started on the tip of her tongue.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says before he leaves, squeezing her hands.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Betty smiles as she drops her keys on the hook by the front door, and looks at herself in the mirror.

She doesn’t look different, or despoiled, or more _knowing_ than when she left the house this morning.

She just looks happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Eek, I really really really hope you guys liked it. If you did, please leave a comment!
> 
> Title is borrowed from Lorde's "Green Light".


End file.
